It finally feels like summer and, post-vaccination, we’re appreciating the creatures close to home without worrying where they came from or where they are going. At Loi’s pod kindergarten, seven goslings provided lots of joy during the last days of the school year before becoming farm geese nearby.
Goose Babies at school
Closer to home, the ecosystem in our tiny backyard pond is changing day by day. I bought the fantails and a few mosquito fish, but the tadpoles appeared as if by magic after a few warm nights when we heard frog (or maybe toad) song through the open window. Yesterday a couple of toad visitors were a major attraction, and Solomon, a painted turtle that Loi discovered in the wild, will be introduced soon.
The pond is ever-changing
Not all is quite so idyllic, however; after sleeping most of the winter Claudia Cupcake has transformed into a highly efficient hunter and the mourning doves chose a particularly poor nesting place in the cherry tree. A small pile of feathers in the driveway was our only clue to the outcome.
Danger, danger!!
I’m grateful for the chance to experience these moments.
I’ve been seeing and hearing so many discussions of what it will be like to go back to normal. I don’t want to go back to normal. With a nod to Joe Biden, I want to build back better. For me, that means an attitude adjustment. I once got a fortune cookie that said “you should resign as general manager of the universe.” (I’ve since learned that this is a Larry Eisenberg quote.) While I hope that I was not quite that arrogant, it is certainly true that I have felt responsible for a lot of things that were never my problem and probably none of my business.
I want to spend more time visiting parks. I want to just sit and look, not count my steps.
Mallards at TBG
I want to have a beautiful garden this summer. But I don’t want to pay for it with pain. My joints demand some compromises. More easy plants and more help with weeding.
It’s not that I want to lower my standards. I just want to be easier on myself. That’s my new goal.
Yesterday I got my second COVID vaccine shot. In two weeks I’ll feel free to socialize with small groups of others who have been vaccinated, to enjoy the occasional restaurant meal, and to return to in-person library browsing and museum-viewing. It’s overwhelming.
How are you processing what we’ve all been through this year and what we’re beginning to experience? Did you clean enough closets? I’ve de-cluttered quite a bit, but I intend to do more this week and next, while my list of other options remains limited.
We’ve watched a lot of tv during our at-home evenings together. Last night we finished the last episode of Midnight Diner: not as romantic as Highlander, not as creative as Beforeigners, but maybe the most satisfying of the countless series that have filled our pandemic time.
We’ve had a few things delivered, but I’ve continued weekly grocery shopping and I consider buying liquor an essential activity. Low-ABV has become the norm for our daily at-home cocktail hours, and I’m going to keep drinking Lillet and tonic for the foreseeable future; it’s one of my best new discoveries. Along with the word “apero.”
Spring is coming…
I’ve missed people, and if you’re reading this I hope to see you in April and beyond.
As a friend of mine recently noted, this is the season of human-sized icicles. We have two. I’m hoping that, beginning today, they melt and disappear without causing major damage. The roof at the back of our house forms a valley, and every few years the gutter there isn’t big enough to handle the volume. We’ve tried many fixes, including tossing what may have been hand warmers, wrapped in socks, into the gutters. That sort of worked. Years ago we when we were desperate to clear things out we ran a hose from the kitchen and attacked the ice with hot water. That didn’t work but resulted in a couple of inches of hot water on the kitchen floor. Many winters, John has gone onto the airing deck outside our bedroom and climbed up on the roof to shovel, usually with me holding my breath and the ladder. This year, with loose snow on top of packed ice, that has been impossible and I am grateful. Basically, I think it’s a design flaw that we have to live with.
Frustrated with plugged ears and general congestion, I’ve been taking Claritin and using a nasal decongestant. Some fogginess may have been inevitable. My mental image of what’s happening inside my head is a bit like what’s happening outside the window as the icicle feels the warmer air. I’m melting.
As the end of the pandemic is coming into sight, I’m also thinking about some things we’ve done to adapt that may be worth keeping.
I haven’t done in-person shopping for a year, but I STILL have too much stuff. I want to remember that and continue to spend my money on experiences more than stuff. But consumable stuff, especially food stuffs, is another story. I’ve cooked more than ever this year and the way I source ingredients has changed a lot.
Most weeks I make one trip to a grocery store. I’ve also beyond grateful for local small producers: We’ve been CSA members of Shared Legacy Farms for many seasons, and I look forward to masked, in-person pickups again this year. Shared Legacy introduced us to Weber Ranch (eggs, chickens, pork, sometimes beef) and Knueven Farms (milk, cheese, ice cream, and now heirloom flours which are helping me to upgrade my breads). Throughout the off-season for produce, we have relied on both, with a combination of pickup and delivery. Once a week, our Actual Coffee order arrives and it’s SO worth it.
Most days, we sit down for pre-dinner drinks, usually low AVB. A trip to Toledo Spirits and Bellwether is on the horizon, once we are well and truly vaccinated.
I’ve mentioned a few local producers that I rely on, but I’ve found other good but non-local sources too, That’s another story, and another post.
Probably it’s the Claritin. Or maybe the CBD. But I’ve been walking around in a fog all day, my head full of cotton wool.
It’s too cold. I don’t want to go out. If I were to go out, where could I go?
For not quite a year, we have sheltered at home and been extremely cautious. Because golf is safe, John has had a fun activity, weather permitting. Because his mom lives nearby and is almost 100 years old, he visits her once a week. I don’t want to play golf, and I don’t want to visit my mother in law, but…
I cook. I bake. A lot. My bread-baking, especially, makes me feel satisfied.
I mask up and go to the grocery store about once a week. We order contact-free takeout when that sounds better than cooking. I do the occasional Zoom call and try to keep up with the groups I belong to. I talk to a few friends, but not as often as I’d like. Johanna and Loi visit, which helps a lot.
We’ve had the first round of vaccines and are scheduled for the second. I’m beginning to imagine feeling safe. Visiting my kids. Going to the library. The museum. Eating indoors with friends. It’s almost hard to picture.
Before COVID, I didn’t consume much television. When quarantine and lockdowns are behind us, I hope to substitute other less restrictive activities for binge-watching Outlander and close-following the news.
But a week ago the attempted coup captured my eyes and today I can’t look away from the impeachment hearings. It’s becoming clearer how we got here, but tough to see where we go next or how.
I’ve long been fascinated by time travel. On Sunday we took a drive through Secor Metropark and visited Wolfinger Cemetery, with graves going back to 1835. I’ve been re-reading the Miss Peregrine and the peculiars books. And we’ve been watching 2-3 episodes of Jamie and Claire in the 18th century almost every night for a couple of weeks. No wonder I feel dis-oriented! Are the Regulators good guys or bad guys? Why is Jamie remaining loyal to King George? Can just anyone travel through the stones and, if not, what makes Claire and Brianna so special?
But really, men in kilts aside, who cares about these fictional adventurers? The important question is can we learn from our own history and create our own better future? And what can each of us do to make that more likely?
I know it is cold outside this morning because the radiator in the bathroom is extra hot. And because the first thing I did when I woke up was to check “weather.com” on my phone. My computer screen tells me that today is Friday, and I believe it although it feels like Sunday, the day after a (very small) celebration and the day before a (as yet undefined) new week. Since the sky is cloudy, my sense of time is independent of the sun.
I hope that in 2021 I can cook for friends as well as family. I hope that in 2021 some of my meals will be inside restaurants, carefully prepared and served by other people.
I hope that in 2021 some of my days will begin with a different view, maybe not a view of far away places – I love being at home – but as grateful as I am to be sheltering in place, I miss other places.
This year has gone on for a LONG time. I’ve been undeservedly lucky and I am grateful. Always.
One of the things I miss is traveling, and tonight I’m thinking about New Orleans – one of my favorite cities. Somehow reality seems different there, and right now it’s nice to daydream about a different reality, different rules.
New Orleans was almost an annual trip for us. For a while I liked to begin and end every visit to NOLA on Tchoupitoulas at Cochon with an oyster and bacon sandwich, something I would be very unlikely to eat anywhere else on earth.
I generally am not a fan of cathedrals or of cops, but in the French Quarter in 2017 it just seemed right:
And listening to music is one of my favorite things to do there. Music is everywhere, and somehow it is always special. Even on Bourbon Street, which otherwise I’d prefer to avoid.
Fritzel’s European Jazz Club on Bourbon Street
We heard Irvin Mayfield several times at the Irvin Jazz Playhouse in the Royal Sonesta on Bourbon and once, memorably, at St. Louis Cathedral, where the holiday season always featured fabulous free concerts.
I am sad that this week Mayfield pleaded guilty to fraud. I get it that he “diverted” a lot of money, not just to his non-profit projects but to indulgences including a gold-plated trumpet. But I want to forgive him, because somehow his love for music and for New Orleans should make it all okay. If there is any place where the rules should be different, it’s New Orleans.
In this time of COVID, I’m going to keep following the rules. But there is no rule against dreaming.
There is nothing more I can do today that will change the election results. I’ve voted, I’ve texted, I’ve sent letters, and I’ve written checks. I’m prepared to send more checks if, as expected, there is an extended legal battle. So now I’m going to turn my attention in another direction, while feeling somehow guilty that I can’t do more.
One of the things getting us through this pandemic is our new happy-hour-at home-tradition. We’ve focused happily on three-ingredient cocktails mostly featuring gin and bourbon, but now I want to learn more about traditional low ABV apertifs, including sherry. I have added Tio Pepe Palomino Fino to our pre-dinner menu.
Another life-saver has been the garden and the many sunny days we’ve enjoyed this fall. After a summer during which it was devastated by wall repair, I’ve re-planted my front garden and am hopeful that it will again be beautiful in the spring, especially the thymes and lavenders I’ve added.
Uncertainty and powerlessness. Not a good combination.
As the end of summer approaches, I’m spending as much time in the garden as I can. Tonight I’m admiring the mints. For obvious reasons I keep most of them in pots, although often they escape:
Water mint
I like mints because they are easy to grow, beautiful and useful. I put a very high priority on useful. Feeling less than useful is, for me, one of the toughest things about this pandemic time.
“It is the destiny of mint to be crushed.” ~ Waverley Root
Ginger mint
This year I used mint to underplant my fig trees. I have high hopes of a (small) fig harvest, but I am confident that we’ll have all the mint we can use for quite a while.
Spearmint
Aloisa loves the mints because she knows she can safely pick and eat the leaves. John likes to grab a handful to add to tea. I like mint in salads, where they remind me of the wonderful herb-filled salads I loved in Lebanon. It’s comforting to think that even now, despite how much is going badly, my friends in Lebanon have mint.
“The yard was full of tomato plants about to ripen, and mint, mint, everything smelling of mint, and one fine old tree that I loved to sit under on those cool perfect starry California October nights unmatched anywhere in the world.” ~ Jack Kerouac
If you need some mint, let me know; I am happy to share.
“The was full of tomato plants about to ripen, and mint, mint, everything smelling of mint, and one fine old tree that I loved to sit under on those cool perfect starry California October nights unmatched anywhere in the world.” ~ Jack Kerou”The yard was full of tomato plants about to ripen, and mint, mint, everything smelling of mint, and one fine old tree that I loved to sit under on those cool perfect starry California October nights unmatched anywhere in the world.” ~ Jack Kero
